


Last Chance

by lexwing



Series: Second Life [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Ben Solo has to save his own damn self, Ben at rock bottom, life after Snoke, like after the First Order, precocious Skywalker child, space piracy for fun and profit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 15:56:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9827555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lexwing/pseuds/lexwing
Summary: After the defeat of Snoke, Ben Solo can no longer wield the Force the way he used to.  He is living under an assumed name, smuggling, drinking, and being a general wreck of a human being.  Until one day an old space pirate and a young Skywalker adoptee draft him unwillingly into an adventure that may give him one last chance at redeeming himself.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Updated author's note: Just can't seem to settle on a title for this one. Summary has also been updated.  
> Original author's note: As far as I’ve been able to determine, there is no canon for how long Weequay live. So I’ve decided to assume their lifespans are a bit more like Wookies than like humans, and thus an elderly Hondo Ohnaka could indeed appear in this story. A few of the characters were previously introduced in various “Second Life” stories; the rest belong to Disney/Lucasfilm. No copyright infringement is intended. Trigger warnings for alcohol abuse and mention of past physical and emotional trauma.

Ch. 1

  A bucket of cold water over the head was a hell of a way to wake up.

  Of course, the man who called himself Mal Garvey thought as he sat up, spluttering, it was better than not waking up at all.

   Or was it?

   His mouth felt as dry as the surface of Jakku and tasted worse.  His head was pounding with what felt like the mother of all hangovers.  His back hurt from the hard metal surface he had been laying on: deck grating, maybe.

   The room he was in was dimly lit.  As he reached down to see if he was indeed sitting on decking he noticed for the first time his hands were cuffed with binders. 

   He lifted his hands close to his face and squinted at them.  Metal, old, but thick and heavy.  A slight blue edge rimmed each of them.  Definitely not the fun kind of cuffs, then.

   Force suppressing cuffs. 

  Mal reached for his throat as best he could with bound hands, and found a similar metal circle around his neck.

   Shit.  Someone knew who he was.  Or at least suspected.  Not good.

   No wonder his head hurt so much.  He knew he had been drinking heavily the night before (he had a vague recollection of a seedy cantina somewhere on the Outer Rim) but this was a completely different level of discomfort.

   “Are you ok?”  A small voice said from his right.

   He squinted, and saw a young Twi’lek, a female, judging by the dual lekku that brushed her shoulders.  Her clothes, what appeared to be some sort of dark blue uniform with a pale blouse, were torn and dirty.  Identical cuffs to his own encircled her small hands and little throat.

   Mal felt sick, angry, and afraid.  He decided that under the circumstances she was as good a person to yell at as any. 

   “What the kriffing hell, kid?”  He growled at her.  “Trying to drown me?”

   Mal didn’t like kids.  He hadn’t even liked himself when he was a kid.

   “I’m sorry, but you’ve been asleep for a really long time.  And you were breathing funny.  I thought I should wake you up,” the child said apologetically.

   Mal grunted in response.  Nightmares, probably.  The nightmares never stopped, unless he got himself blackout drunk.  Which had been his plan last night before whatever had happened…had happened.

   He shoved himself to his feet, swaying slightly.  His stomach roiled.

   Below them he could feel the thrum of an engine.  They were in space, in what looked like a reinforced storage bay.  Heavy double doors sealed the only exit.  What the…

   He glanced down at his bare feet.  “Where the hell are my boots?”

   The child frowned.  “You shouldn’t swear so much.  And they took them.  Mine, too.”  She pointed at her own pale green feet.

   Mal rubbed his bound hands over his eyes. 

   Great, wherever he was, not only was he stuck with a kid, but she was a bossy one, too. 

   To ease his nausea he pinched the bridge of his nose.  He tried to reconstruct the events of the last twelve hours.

   OK, so he’d been on Kallack 10 last night, he knew that.  He had just finished making a run for the Hutts, he had just been paid, and he had settled in to a long night of drinking and, hopefully, carousing with one of the cantina girls.  At one point late in the evening, he had excused himself from the bar to relieve himself outside and then…

   Nothing.  The memories just stopped.

   Well, there was one memory: a sense of something being wrong in the dark, of his dulled senses trying to warn him…

   He glanced at the child sharply. 

   “Who is ‘they’?”  He demanded. 

   “Huh?”

   “You said ‘they’ took my boots.  Who is ‘they’?  The First Order?  The Republic?”

   He had never heard of the Republic arresting children.  And the First Order would have killed the little Twi’lek instead of taking her captive. Unless she knew something. 

   Unless she’d been locked up in here with him on purpose, in the hopes of softening him up.

   Mal smiled grimly. 

   If that was someone’s plan, they were going to be sorely disappointed.  Mal didn’t care about anyone other than himself.  Hadn’t, in a very long time.

   “Neither one,” the child explained.  “Pirates.”

   Mal was tempted to laugh.  “Pirates?”

   The child nodded.  “Uh huh.  I’ve been here a week: no, a bit longer than that, I think.”

   That explained the state of her clothing, anyway.  “Slavers?”  Mal asked.

   “I don’t think so.  Just pirates.  Things were going ok until they figured out they needed another Force sensitive. That’s when they brought you on board.” 

   The girl stepped closer and peered up at him.  “I thought I knew every other Force sensitive in the universe: it’s not like there are a lot of us anymore.  Who are you?”

   “Mal Garvey.”  The lie was smooth, practiced.  “And I’m no Force sensitive.  They got the wrong guy.”

   The little girl was skeptical.  “No, you are; before they put the cuffs on us I could feel it but…there’s something wrong.  Your Force signature was, well, to be honest it’s kind of a mess.  I’ve never felt anything like it.”

   His temper flaring, Mal bit back a reply.

   Oh, if he was still anything like he once had been, he’d show her whose Force signature was messed up!  Obnoxious little Jedi brat…

   He was suddenly cold. 

_Jedi._

   Now that he had more of his wits about him, it was unmistakable.  Even with the cuffs on the child radiated Light force energy.  The supressants made her presence unfocused, but it was _there._

   The man who called himself Mal didn’t know whether to laugh or to slam one of his fists into the bulkhead.  He settled for doing both, causing the girl to very quickly move away from him.

   Good.  He didn’t want her anywhere near him.

   The metal doors began to roll open with a creaking groan.  Clearly, these pirates, or whoever they were, weren’t much for ship maintenance.

   Mal half expected the child to scuttle behind him for safety, but instead she stood her ground as a dozen heavily armed Weequay entered.

   Figured, Mal thought to himself.  Not all Weequay were pirates, but an awful lot of pirates were Weequay.

   They were all males, a malnourished, dirty collection of individuals, even for pirates.  They bared their teeth in Mal’s direction and brandished their heavy-duty blasters, but none of them got too close.

   Mal could feel the itch under his skin growing, the urge to hurt those who has tried to hurt him rising like lava, the Dark whispering in his ear…

   Just as quickly, pain lanced through his body, and he doubled over.

_No, no, no…_

   His vision swam and his lungs burned.  He took several deep gasping breaths until the Dark slunk away again, its damage done.

   “Now, now, my young friend, nothing to get so excited about.” 

   The oldest of the pirates, a very old Weequay, had come to stand in front of Mal. His skin was the color and texture of parchment but his gray eyes were sharp and canny.

   “I do apologize for meeting under these circumstances,” the pirate continued, “but we have need of your assistance in a rather delicate matter.”

   “Yeah?  My standard rate is two thousand credits a day plus expenses,” Mal retorted.  “But for you that’s just doubled.”

   The old pirate laughed, as did several of his companions.

   “I’m afraid you were rather…belligerent when my friends here confronted you outside that cantina last night, so no negotiations could be made. Yoqi and Channa Mukmuk had to settle for stunning you and bringing you on board to discuss things later.”

   “I’ll be sure and return the favor in the future,” Mal told the pirates.  “Whatever it is you want, I’m not interested.”

   “Oh, I think you will be.”  The oldest Weequay swept off his hat.  “Allow me to introduce myself.  I am Hondo Ohnaka.  You’ve heard of me, of course?”

   “I’ve heard of the Book of Hondo,” Mal conceded after a moment.  “’Do not wait for opportunity to strike.  Steal it instead,' and all that.”

   “I still don’t think you actually wrote that,” the girl said, the first time she’d spoken since the pirates had come into the room.

   Hondo frowned at her but wore a teasing smile. 

   “You remain skeptical, little miss, but I tell you: I, Hondo Ohnaka, am indeed the one and only author of that great book of wisdom.” 

   He turned back to Mal and winked.  “Wasn’t much else to do in an Imperial prison, you know?  So why not share my knowledge with the world?”

   “Noted,” Mal said flatly.  “Now get me the hell off this ship.”

   Hondo waggled a finger at him.  “I’m afraid you do not get to give commands in this situation.  All we are asking for is your assistance in a very small matter.  Then we shall be happy to set you down on any world you choose.”  Hondo grinned.  “The further away from Republic space the better, I would guess.”

   “In the meantime, you shall be a guest and an honorary crewmember, just like the little miss here.”  Hondo reached out and set a hand on the child’s head.  “Tell me, child, has anyone mistreated you since you came to be among us, eh?”

   “Since you kidnapped me, you mean?”  The child frowned.  “Not exactly.  Unless you count not letting me have a bath or a change of clothes.”

   “Bah, a waste of water in space,” Ohnaka chuckled.  “And you look fine—very piratical, I must say.  Just like one of us.”

   Several of the other Weequay laughed, but it was cruel laughter.  Mal suspected Hondo was the only one standing between the child’s slight discomfort and her outright misery.

   But it wasn’t any of his business.

   “I’m still not going to help you,” Mal told him.

   One of the other pirates, a younger man wearing the tatty remnants of several different uniforms, stepped forward, pointing his blaster at Mal’s solar plexus.  “You will.  Or you will die.”

   Several other pirates growled their agreement.  But Hondo tut-tutted.

   “Now, Wannu, that’s no way to speak to our guest.”  Hondo smiled, his eyes sharp.  “Our young friend here will help us with our last, great score.  He will indeed.  He and the little one.”

   Blood was roaring in Mal’s head again.  Hate and anger welled up inside him.  And the Light—the Light was screaming for his attention, making his vision blur and his ears ring.  The Force bindings on his body seemed to tighten.  His stomach rolled over.

   Hondo looked at him knowingly and reached into his coat, withdrawing a flask.

   “Hair of the wampa that bit you?”  He suggested, holding it out to Mal.

   With a scowl, Mal grabbed it and popped it open, taking a deep swig of what tasted like rotgut.  It was disgusting, but it made the titanic forces inside of him suddenly loosen their grip a bit.

   “Better now,” Hondo told him.  “You can keep that if you’d like.”

   Mal pushed it back.  “No thank you.”

   The old pirate just shrugged.  “Suit yourself.  Now, I think some further introductions are in order.”  He drew the little girl to his side.  His smile was almost feral.

   “We’ve met,” the girl protested.  “His name’s Mal Garvey.  I dumped a bucket of water over his head.  He doesn’t like me.”

   “That’s because he doesn’t know you yet,” Hondo consoled her. 

   He glanced back at Mal.  “And shame on you, Mr. Solo, for lying to a child.”  The old Weequay blinked innocently.  “Or is it Organa-Solo?  Or is it still Ren?  I never did figure that out.”

   Ben Solo bit down on the inside of his lip until he tasted his own blood. 

  “Not Ren,” he snapped.

   “Ah.  It is good to put the past behind us,” Hondo nodded.  “I understand.  Child, this tall fellow here is actually Ben Organa-Solo.  He scowls a great deal, as you can see, but he means well.  And, Mr. Solo, this lovely young lady is Beru Skywalker.” 

   The pirate smiled down at the little girl.  “Isn’t that a nice surprise?”  He said delightedly.

   Ben starred at the girl with an open mouth for a moment.  He knew in his bones that Hondo spoke the truth. 

   But it made no sense.

   Had the Old Man finally gotten so lonely he had adopted a child to keep him company?  Or had he somehow managed to knock up a Twi’lek dancing girl?  At his age?  The very idea made Ben snort with suppressed laughter.

   “I don’t care where you came from,” he settled for telling the girl.  “You have no right to that name.” 

   He meant the Skywalker part.  He had no problem with the Old Man naming the child after his dirt-farming aunt, even if it did just highlight how sentimental Luke must have gotten in his dotage.

   The child didn’t seem to be listening to Ben at all.  Instead, she was studying him with her head cocked to one side, her lekku quivering.

   “Cousins?”  She finally asked aloud.  “We are cousins?”

   “You are,” Hondo said.

   Ben turned towards him, ready to beat the old pirate until he revealed how he knew whom Ben really was and how he was connected to the Skywalkers, blasters be damned.

   But he didn’t have a chance.

   Before Ben could prevent it the little girl—Beru, he correct himself mechanically—had flung both her arms around his waist and was hugging him.

   She was surprisingly strong for someone so young.

   “Kriffing hell,” Ben said to no one in particular.

 

 

 

 


End file.
